In this intimate solo concert at Seven Seeds Farm in Oregon, Peia offers a meditative kirtan performance centered on a simple but profound refrain: "Blessed we are to dance on this ground." The piece weaves together earth gratitude, ancestral remembrance, and a repeated invitation to listeners to recall their own sacred purpose. Through call-and-response lyrics, the performance invites participants to embody a prayer for the Earth and future generations while anchoring themselves in the beauty and aliveness of the present moment.
What Does It Mean to Dance Sacred on the Ground?
At the heart of this performance lies a deceptively simple image: dancing on the Earth itself. Peia opens with "Blessed we are to dance on this ground / with the rhythm of saints to carry the sound." This is not literal dancing alone, though the music certainly invites physical movement. Rather, it points to what many contemplative and indigenous traditions call sacred presence—the act of showing up fully to life as it unfolds, moment by moment, on the land beneath our feet.
The phrase "rhythm of saints" suggests that this presence is not solitary. It draws on the spiritual lineage of those who have walked before—ancestors, teachers, and wisdom keepers whose accumulated awareness and devotion create a kind of invisible current we can tap into. When Peia sings "to carry the sound," the implication is that our own aliveness, our own sacred actions, do not exist in isolation but carry forward something larger than ourselves. We become vessels and channels for a lineage of care.
This understanding reframes what it means to be alive on Earth. Rather than movement disconnected from purpose, or dance divorced from reverence, Peia invites a way of being that is simultaneously joyful and devotional—alive to beauty, grounded in gratitude.
Why Pray for the Earth and Those Yet to Come?
A central refrain of the performance is the prayer itself: "We hold a prayer for the Earth / for the ones yet to come / May you walk in beauty and remember your song." This prayer names two objects of care that extend beyond the self—the Earth itself, and future generations. In doing so, Peia positions the listener not as a consumer of resources but as a steward and a member of an intergenerational family.
The specific wish—"may you walk in beauty"—echoes the Navajo concept of hózhǫ́, often translated as "walking in beauty" or living in harmony. This is not beauty as aesthetics alone, but beauty as a state of right relationship with all things. To walk in beauty is to move through the world in awareness of one's impact, to honor the sacred in all beings, and to make choices that reflect love rather than extraction.
The second part of the prayer—"remember your song"—suggests that each being, each generation, carries its own sacred note or purpose. The prayer is not that future people simply survive, but that they remain connected to their own aliveness, their own unique gift. This is a prayer that resonates with many contemplative and indigenous worldviews in which each creature and each person has a role to play in the larger whole.
By offering this prayer within the performance space, Peia invites listeners to move from a stance of entitlement or extraction to one of gratitude and responsibility. The Earth is not a given; it is a gift. Our presence here is not automatic; it is an honor that carries obligations to those who depend on the choices we make today.
What Does "Remember Why You Came Here" Invite?
The performance reaches its deepest call in a repeated refrain: "Remember why you came here / Remember your life is sacred. / Remember why you came here / Remember all life is sacred."
This layered instruction operates on multiple levels. On the surface, it asks the listener to reconnect with intention—to ask, in their own life, what drew them to incarnate at this time, in this form, in this world. It acknowledges that this is not a random event. In many spiritual traditions, the notion that we "came here" implies choice, destiny, or karmic purpose. Even if a listener doesn't hold to explicit reincarnation beliefs, the invitation can still land: What called you into being? What unique purpose or perspective do you carry?
The second instruction—"Remember your life is sacred"—offers a corrective to the ordinariness or even shame that can cloud human existence. In a world of constant evaluation, comparison, and productivity demands, it is easy to forget that one's simple presence, one's breath, one's awareness are already sacred. This is not something to be earned; it is something to be remembered. The word "remember" literally means "to rejoin" or "to make whole again"—suggesting that we are not learning something new, but recalling what we already know but have temporarily forgotten.
The final turn—"Remember all life is sacred"—expands the remembrance beyond the individual self to encompass the entire web of being. When all life is sacred, then the ant, the soil, the tree, the person sitting next to you, even the difficult ones—all deserve reverence and care. This is the foundation of ethics born not from obligation but from direct perception of the sacredness already present.
How Does Repetition Deepen the Work?
One of the most characteristic elements of kirtan—call-and-response devotional singing—is the use of repetition. Peia cycles through the core lyrics multiple times throughout the performance, returning again and again to "blessed we are to dance on this ground" and "remember why you came here." This is not accidental.
In many contemplative traditions, repetition is understood as a way to move meaning from the intellectual mind into the body and heart. The first time we hear a phrase, we may understand it conceptually. But by the fifth, seventh, or tenth repetition, something shifts. The words begin to resonate not just as ideas but as invitations that settle into the nervous system, the emotional body, the somatic sense of what it means to be alive.
Repetition also mirrors the rhythmic pulse of life itself—the return of seasons, the heartbeat, the breath in and out. By singing the same phrases with slight variations, Peia invites the listener into a kind of meditation through music, a state in which the usual mental chatter quiets and what remains is the simple truth being sung. This is why many traditions use mantra, chant, and kirtan as spiritual practices: they are technologies for shifting consciousness through sound and rhythm.
Where to Go From Here
This performance invites several practices and inquiry directions:
- Embodied remembrance: Take time in nature—on soil, grass, or stone—and ask yourself: Why did I come here? What is my unique gift? Let the body move if it wants to, even in small ways, honoring the gift of being alive in form.
- Intergenerational prayer: Sit with the question of future generations. What choices do you make daily that affect those not yet born? How might shifting your awareness to include them change the way you move through the world?
- Practice kirtan yourself: Listen to this and other kirtan performances with the understanding that you are not a passive observer but an invited participant. Your breath, your voice (even silent), your presence in the circle all matter.
- Explore earth-based spirituality: The concept of "walking in beauty" and sacred relationship with the Earth appears across many wisdom traditions. Investigate how your own spiritual or philosophical tradition speaks to humanity's role as a steward rather than a consumer of the natural world.
- Sit with sacredness: Notice moments in your daily life when you feel the sacredness Peia names. It may be a conversation, a meal, a moment of stillness. Rather than waiting for special conditions, practice recognizing the sacred already present in the ordinary.
